Road to Redemption: The Mask of a Hero
by Ariel D
Summary: Story 2 and sequel to “Progression of a Killer.” Jarlaxle’s manipulation of and curiosity over Entreri’s psyche backfires. What will this mean for the future of the companions?
1. Chapter 1

**Important Note: **This is the second part of the _Road to Redemption_ series and follows "Progression of a Killer." This fanfic was originally posted on Lavender Eyes on May 31, 2004, and therefore is unlikely to be revised. I'd rather focus on writing new stories; besides, my later stories build on the events in this one.

This piece is meant to take place several months after "Empty Joys" and draws very heavily upon that story, _Servant of the Shard_, and "That Curious Sword." This fanfic also refers to the story "The Third Level" from _Realms of Infamy_, in which we learn that as a child, Entreri was sexually abused. This fanfic begins one month after the events in "Progression." It would be best if you were familiar with the first story; however, I think you can read it as a stand-alone.

* * *

**The Road to Redemption: The Mask of a Hero**

By Ariel

_Description: Part 2 and sequel to "The Progression of a Killer." Jarlaxle's manipulation of and curiosity over Entreri's psyche backfires. What will this mean for the future of the companions? Drama/Action/Adventure. _

Disclaimer: Jarlaxle, Artemis Entreri, and all other recognizable characters belong to R.A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. The following story is just for the amusement of the fans and will never make any profit. Like many other fanfic writers, I am a poor student, so suing me would do no one any good.

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**Chapter 1**

Artemis Entreri had the urge to knock Jarlaxle over the head with his sword's sheath.

Jarlaxle was sitting atop his newest purchase—a black mare—singing through all twelve stanzas of a bawdy ballad the two had overheard a few nights before at a tavern. He grinned wickedly at Entreri between each stanza, and there was no doubt that Jarlaxle was the only being in all the world who would keep singing after getting such a malevolent look—repeatedly—from the dangerous assassin. In fact, the more annoyed Entreri became, the louder Jarlaxle sang.

Of course, Entreri caught on to this and employed every ounce of will power he possessed to wipe the irritation off of his face, but after a while even his mount started to whinny, as though he were begging the assassin to stop the elf. No doubt, three of the four creatures present were very happy when Jarlaxle reached the end of the song despite the fact the elf had a fairly nice singing voice.

"What a beautiful morning!" Jarlaxle exclaimed after he'd finished. "A lovely sunrise, a smooth road, and such beautiful wildflowers in the fields."

Entreri snorted. Did the elf do that just to irritate him? Still, the drow's observations were technically accurate: after being expelled by the last village which had rejected the drow, they'd traveled southeast and had entered a stretch of flatlands. Lush fields with swaying purple wildflowers raced away from them on all sides, and the dirt road was unusually flat. With the dawn had come moderate warmth and a pleasant breeze which blew almost constantly. All in all, not too bad, the assassin noted, yet it was hardly something to get excited about.

"Cheer up, my friend," Jarlaxle said. "We have almost reached Amonacan, by all accounts a lovely little town."

"That you can't even find on a map," Entreri retorted.

"They are rumored to create some of Faerun's most beautiful rugs," Jarlaxle continued airily.

"Oh, lovely."

"And have attractive women."

"Who are likely actually long-faced, mousey-haired, and coarse," Entreri quipped.

"Don't be ugly, my dusty, unshaven friend."

Entreri snorted again. "This coming from a drow wearing a purple hat and a red eye-patch?"

Jarlaxle laughed. "I am simply graced with finer tastes than most."

At that claim, Entreri glanced down at the black shirt he now wore—one given to him by Jarlaxle. The magical threads running through it caused it to shimmer silver in certain lights, and ivory-colored buttons of engraved bone decorated the front. He kept the shirt unbuttoned a few inches down from the neck for his comfort, but he supposed that in an odd way he did look fashionable in it. "Black is by far more tasteful."

The dark elf laughed again. "Only for those with dour personalities like your own!"

The assassin didn't bother to reply. Jarlaxle had an answer for everything. The man simply resigned himself to the drow's relentless joyful chattering all the way to the town.

The companions rode up to the most promising inn and went through their now-common routine of facing down scared and bigoted townspeople for the chance to have a warm meal and a room after a long night's ride. Fortunately, the news of their recent capture of a deeply feared rapist in the surrounding area had reached this town, and it eased their way. The owner of the tavern didn't seem thrilled with the idea of a drow bounty hunter, but he grudgingly accepted them.

Arrangements secured, they returned outside to their horses with the intention of taking them to the stable before settling in for breakfast. Yet when they stepped outside, they were met with a curious sight: a small man in a flowing brown cape and leather armor had just mounted Entreri's horse, and even as they watched, he kicked his heels into the beast's sides. The horse reared and galloped off.

"That man just stole my horse," Entreri stated in a calm, factual manner.

Further down the street, the horse veered to the right suddenly, scattering a group of people. The rider leaned down and snatched up a young teenaged girl from the edge of the crowd. The assassin grimaced at the sight, suspecting that the move had dislocated the girl's shoulder.

"That man just abducted a young girl," Jarlaxle noted.

"That man is named Marrin Socor," said an alarmed voice to their rear, "and the girl in question is the mayor's daughter."

The companions traded looks and turned as one to face the man behind them. "Oh?" prompted Entreri.

"Ye just got caught in the middle of a nasty situation," the man remarked with wide eyes. "Give up on yer 'orse, now. Socor is a nasty fellow. He's wanted in towns up t' a 'undred miles from 'ere."

"Oh?" Jarlaxle echoed his friend.

The assassin could hear the gold coins adding up in the elf's head, and he could almost taste the trouble brewing.

Artemis Entreri was getting a headache.

"Bounty hunters? Ye cannot be serious!"

Entreri watched the town sheriff turn bright red in the face as he faced the mayor, a greying man named Richard Ligon. The mayor, however, was distracted and tearful. He paced the length of the town's tiny sheriff's office.

"My poor Lila," he moaned. "We shouldn't have banished him, McKinney. Socor really wasn't causing too much of a problem here, and now he's—"

"Done what he would've done anyway!" the sheriff replied. "But my men will take care of it, don't ye worry. We'll get yer daughter back safely. Ye don't need to add bounty hunters to this mess."

Entreri choked back a sigh as he watched the mayor gnaw on his fist. He'd give them three more minutes, then he was walking out.

"Ah, you may not need bounty hunters," Jarlaxle interjected, "but then again, you may after all. Who knows what dangers might befall your men as they gallop to the girl's rescue, good sheriff McKinney? And having two more people out to capture this dangerous Socor will not hurt, I dare say."

Ligon nodded, but he was staring at a point to the left of Jarlaxle's shoulder, likely out of discomfort over talking to a drow. "I suppose you are correct. They say Socor is a wizard."

"Well, his father is an accomplished one, supposedly." McKinney smirked.

"Then you definitely need our help. We fare quite well when facing wizards." Jarlaxle smiled, utilizing the best of his charm.

"Very well," the worried man said. "I'll personally pay you five-hundred gold for the return of my daughter, and the town will pay an extra three-hundred for either bringing in Socor alive or for bringing in his head."

"But . . . y-ye can't!" sheriff McKinney stuttered. "Three-hundred gold will wipe out the town treasury! And—and five-hundred gold will leave ye destitute!"

The mayor closed his eyes. "I realize that," he said, bowing his head. "But we need Marrin Socor stopped. And . . .." His voice caught. "And I would do anything to save my daughter." He opened his eyes, which shone brightly with tears, and looked at the two bounty hunters. "Will you accept the job?"

"We will," Jarlaxle replied solemnly, to which a frowning Entreri nodded.

"Then enough talk," Ligon said. "Please leave immediately."

Jarlaxle and Entreri took the cue and departed, the assassin riding the sheriff's horse.

"Not too bad," Jarlaxle said with a grin as they left the town, "considering we needed to retrieve your horse anyway."

"If we get there first," was all Entreri would say. This made the third rescue-type bounty mission they'd taken in as many months, and even though they were being paid for their efforts, that—mixed with some goblin and orc killing they'd done—was beginning to make the assassin feel strange. This was not the type of adventure he'd imagined when they'd set off months ago. Still, it originally had been Entreri's suggestion to work as bounty hunters, so he really couldn't say anything. He frowned, resigning himself to the task at hand.

"You do not seem happy, my friend. Smile!" Jarlaxle's happy tone made the word sound nearly like a chirp. "We are getting paid to save a damsel in distress! Can it be any better?"

Entreri snorted. The drow had an odd sense of humor. "Oh, yes, we're charging off to eradicate evil."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," the mercenary said innocently.

"If we really meant to eradicate evil, we'd have to kill the whole world," Entreri replied.

The drow turned a curious look upon him, apparently catching the half-jest. "Why do you say that, my friend?"

"Because most people are evil."

"Are they?" Jarlaxle gave him the oddest look.

"Yes," Entreri explained patience he didn't feel. "Self-proclaimed heroes and goodly priests make a great show of their charity, but most of them live completely different lives behind closed doors. More often than not, paladins are simply trying to gain fame and fortune—and maybe the favors of a young maiden—and they have no real sense of honor or justice. Granted, there may be a few honest ones or a few foolish enough to die for others, but it's wiser to simply distrust them all. In the end, the only thing separating us from most of the 'heroes,' 'goodly' priests, and other such people is that we admit we're in this only for ourselves. The people who meet us know not to trust us, and we don't lie—not about that."

Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "So the whole world be damned?"

"The whole world is damned already."

"No wonder you do not enjoy your life."

"How have you enjoyed yours?" Entreri asked skeptically. "By playing the game like everyone else? By playing it better than others so that you may have the most power and wealth of any male in Menzoberranzan?"

"No, my friend," said the surprising drow, "although I do not deny that wealth and power bring me pleasure. I enjoy my life because I know it _is_ all a great game. There is no truth to the game, and there is no higher meaning about life that comes from it. I do not damn the whole world because the game is merely that which I play to stay alive. The world is, in part, the game, but the game is not the whole world."

Entreri stared hard at Jarlaxle, trying to make sense of that one.

Jarlaxle, in the meantime, was pleased with this second insight he'd finally been able to pry from Entreri. He'd been curious about the assassin's past experience with priests ever since the first revealing insight Entreri had graced him with while they were at the Spirit Soaring. Jarlaxle now wondered if he might be getting closer to the truth of Entreri's hatred. Could it be that a young Artemis, traumatized by his father and uncle, had turned to a priest for help and had been denied or betrayed by that priest? Or could it be that Artemis's father or uncle had been a priest? The church of Tyr was quite active in Calimshan, after all. It would have been a sick irony for the child if his father had been a priest of the god of justice. Or—even worse—a priest of Ilmater, a god who cares for children!

But Jarlaxle had already learned not to press the man on the matter. "So, selfish bastards that we are, we don't care if the mayor's daughter is tortured or killed?"

Entreri shrugged and looked away from the drow to stare down the dirt road. "We are getting paid to save her."

Jarlaxle started to reply, to point out that Entreri did not care about material wealth, to reveal the strange contradictions in the man's recent behavior, but he left the words unsaid. Entreri still needed to believe he was hopelessly selfish and evil, still needed to believe that he didn't care about anyone other than himself. To a great extent, in fact, those things were still true. But believing that he was not changing kept the man feeling safe, and it was not yet time to knock the man any further off-balance than he already was. "Very well. Let us go save the maid, then."

Entreri smirked, no doubt thinking the reply quite typical of the profit-lusting mercenary. His response, of course, was a good thing since part of the reason Jarlaxle was successfully changing the man was because they were both just that—mercenaries. Jarlaxle was a kindred spirit, someone Entreri could—to some extent—identify with. Therefore, the drow could discuss, say, or point out things Entreri wouldn't take from someone else, which was fortunate considering that the drow was in the position to point out much. And he wanted to, especially after what he'd learned a month earlier . . ..

On the other hand, Jarlaxle had to wonder if his apparently predictable profit-lust was, in a personal context, not as much of a good thing. It was not a thought that had ever occurred to him before.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to the people on the LE forum who brought up the notion that Jarlaxle would likely sing just to annoy Entreri. Great idea! Also, I would like to thank, up front, darkhelmet and Matt for being my beta readers. _

Other notes: I totally made up the description of the shirt—RAS doesn't say what color it is. I just imagine it that way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It took them the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon to track Socor's trail, and Entreri was beginning to feel exhausted. While they had enough rations to take care of breakfast and lunch, it had been roughly thirty-six hours since the assassin had slept. This made for one irritated Entreri. Still, when they came upon the bodies of three men they recognized as the sheriff's, all traces of Entreri's tiredness were swept away by the knowledge a battle would soon be upon them.

The pair dismounted and checked the corpses. The bodies had only just begun to cool, so the companions tethered their horses and proceeded on foot. About twelve yards away, they came upon a clearing which contained a small hut with a thatch roof. They crouched in the undergrowth and considered the situation.

"He's in there," Entreri whispered.

"How do you know?"

"Instinct."

"You are correct."

"How do you know?"

"I can hear him talking from here."

The assassin raised an eyebrow at that and dually noted the information for future use. "Other than the girl, is there another with him, then?"

"His words suggest he is speaking to the girl, so I do not believe so." Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes as he concentrated on the hut. "One entrance, one exit," he observed absently, still keeping his voice low.

"Nowhere to run," the assassin said.

The drow nodded and motioned for Entreri to take the right while he took the left. In a wide arc, they sneaked their way out to the sides of the hut before approaching. With their signature stealth, they silently moved toward the door as one and then looked to each other once in position. Jarlaxle used drow hand code to sign to Entreri the timing of their entrance, and as one, they jumped through the doorway, both of them immediately diving to the sides.

Their instincts paid off, for the instant they came though the door, a lightning bolt blasted through the doorway. Entreri found he had nothing to take cover behind, so he rolled back to his feet, drawing his dagger and preparing to use his gauntlet to catch the next bolt. Sure enough, the air sizzled with static as he faced the tiny leather-clad man standing in the middle of the room.

"Well done," Socor commented in a soft tenor voice. His hazel eyes shone with almost childlike amusement, and for all the realms he seemed not much more than a mischievous overgrown child. "However . . .."

Entreri could smell the tangy-metallic scent of ozone, and the hair on the back of his neck rose. Tendrils of blue lightning crackled about Socor's hands as he hurled another bolt at the assassin. Entreri caught the lightning with his gauntlet and started to hurl it back at the wizard, but then he noticed the crying girl tied to a chair behind the man. It was too dangerous. With a curse, he aimed the blast at the stone fireplace at the back of the hut. The resounding crack shook the entire structure and filled with air with a puff of black smoke.

"Impressive," the wizard said with a note of genuine respect, but he had no time to comment further since Jarlaxle dropped the room into magical silence.

Socor's delicate angular features twisted into an annoyed frown. He reached inside his belt pouch, which caused Entreri to tense as he cautiously stepped toward the wizard. However, Socor simply produced a large silver coin approximately an inch in diameter. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, and the silence immediately lifted.

"That was terribly rude." Socor folded his arms, coin in hand, and the aura of the overgrown child was replaced by one of unbearable conceit. His apparent ease despite the gauntleted assassin and the well-prepared Jarlaxle was either a foolish bluff or an unsettling display of power.

Entreri knew Jarlaxle would make another move, so he endeavored to keep Socor's attention on himself. "Why abduct a little girl?"

"A bit of mischief, a bit of revenge," the wizard answered easily. "The mayor and I had a small problem." Still evincing a total lack of concern, he briefly glanced back at the terrified blonde-headed girl, who looked to be about twelve years old. "Besides, she's a cute one, don't you think?"

Entreri stared at the man, hating him instantly. Socor was so short and slender he wasn't too much larger than a halfling, the assassin mused, and he envisioned how easy it might be to physically attack the man. With closely-cropped light brown hair, small protruding ears, and a button-like nose, the man reminded Entreri of a mouse. Considering Entreri's deep-seated disgust toward wererats, this observation didn't help Socor's case.

Jarlaxle, who was crouched behind a table to Socor's rear, had retrieved one of his many wands and proceeded to spray Socor with the sticky strands of a web. The wizard, however, shrugged them off with ease. "Now, now, we hardly need to bother with a fight. I assure you my token can—"

The drow immediately whipped out a second wand and struck the man with a lightning bolt of his own. The energy seemed to funnel into the silver token in Socor's hand, leaving the man unhurt. He turned, smiled at Jarlaxle, and leisurely popped his neck. "As I was saying, there really is no reason for us to fight. Let us be reasonable. I can tell the two of you are bounty hunters. Whatever the mayor is paying you to rescue the girl I'll double if you'll simply walk away. Or, if you really want to fight—"

Entreri wasn't even listening. He tackled the man, stabbing the vampiric dagger into his side as he knocked him into the floor. The assassin was not surprised when the dagger was deflected by a stoneskin spell, but he was shocked at the wizard's strength as he shoved him off.

A faint clicking sound against the stone of the fireplace told Entreri all he needed to know. He dived toward the sound, practically throwing himself to the ground as Jarlaxle hit Socor with another lightning bolt. Entreri grabbed the silver token that had been knocked from the man's hand and came to his feet again.

But Socor seemed unharmed except for the way all his hair stood up at odd angles on his head. "This could take all day," he sighed. Muttering a single word, he pointed toward Entreri with one hand and the girl with the other. Several powerful magical missiles shot forth.

In the same instant, Jarlaxle hurled himself at the girl, nearly knocking the chair over but managing to cover her in time. The band on his hat absorbed the missiles.

Entreri caught the energy with his gauntlet, and yet the token, which he now held between the middle and ring fingers of his dagger hand, grew burning hot. The assassin cried out, dropping both the token and dagger as his skin burned, but he kept enough presence of mind to redirect the magic into the dirt floor.

Pulling himself to his feet, Jarlaxle immediately countered by hitting Socor with a second web. This time the web captured the man against the wall. The drow smirked. "You bluffed well, but after my last lightning bolt I could tell—"

"Bastards!" Socor interrupted, raging. "Have you not heard of the Socors? You have no idea what kind of enemy you just made in me!" And he vanished in a puff of pale grey smoke, web and all.

Jarlaxle and Entreri traded grim expressions. "Wonderful," the assassin sighed. He examined his injured hand, cursing when he saw that the skin between his fingers had already blistered. The burning sensation was so powerful it felt more like ice. Gritting his teeth, he bent down and picked up the dagger and now-cool token with his other hand and tucked them both away.

"The token rejected you," Jarlaxle commented, apparently intrigued by the piece. "It must be quite powerful to have so easily negated my attacks. I'll want to examine it." He turned toward the trembling girl. "But first we have a girl to save."

The girl lifted her chin, obviously trying to be brave.

Jarlaxle smiled and knelt behind her chair to untie the ropes. "Your name is Lila, correct? Well, you may relax now. Your father sent us."

"I can see that," Lila said. Although tears still stood in her eyes, she managed to speak steadily.

Entreri stopped before her and held back an uncharacteristic smile. This one had pluck—no small accomplishment considering she'd been abducted by a wizard and rescued by a drow. He extended his uninjured hand when the ropes fell free. "Come, then."

The girl rubbed her wrists as she eyed the assassin. She appeared mistrustful for a moment, then seemed to change her mind. She accepted the hand and stood. "We are returning to the village now?" Her tone of voice made the question sound more like a command.

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Yes, milady."

Entreri stepped aside and motioned for her to lead the way. She didn't waste a moment.

"It would appear that we are both heroes today," Jarlaxle commented as they followed the girl.

"Don't be ridiculous." Entreri scowled at him as they ducked through the doorway of the hut. "Besides, Socor escaped."

Jarlaxle merely shrugged, a small smile bending the corners of his lips. "Perhaps. Yet we have saved the damsel in distress, my friend."

Entreri gave up and sighed heavily, holding out his burnt fingers. "Just heal my hand."

* * *

The companions weren't sure if they were to report to the mayor's house or the sheriff's office, so they chose the latter. Their hunch turned out to be correct; they found the mayor sitting at the sheriff's desk with his head cradled in his arms. He looked up at the sound of the door.

"Daddy!" Lila yelled, and the man knocked over his chair in his rush to stand and run around the desk.

Lila sprinted across the room and threw herself into her father's arms. The girl burst into tears the instant her father's arms encircled her, and the man began to weep as well. The commotion brought the sheriff into the room; McKinney smiled when he saw the girl but frowned when he saw the companions.

"Socor?" McKinney asked.

"He escaped," Jarlaxle admitted, but Entreri stayed silent, merely watching the show and frowning.

"But you brought back my girl!" Ligon exclaimed, hugging his daughter and lifting her off her feet by a few inches. "McKinney!" It seemed to be an order.

The sheriff growled and left the room, returning a moment later with a heavy brown bag. The mayor released his daughter and approached the companions.

"Thank you—truly—with all my heart!" Ligon said to them, still sniffling. He turned to the sheriff, who handed him the laden sack. "Here is your payment." He paused for a moment, looking uncertain, then handed Entreri the lumpy bag.

Entreri stared at the tearful man for a long moment, looked over at the daughter, then turned back to the mayor and returned the bag to him. "We cannot accept the payment. We only completed half of the job."

"No, you misunderstand." Ligon seemed confused. "It was five-hundred for my daughter and three-hundred for Socor. This is the five-hundred." He held out the bag again. "We'll pay you the three-hundred when you capture Socor."

Entreri shook his head, feeling resolute about the decision, although he was unsure why. "We do not accept payment for a job half done." Jarlaxle would likely be angry, the assassin figured, but he just didn't care.

"But—" the mayor began, obviously stunned. Apparently equally surprised, the sheriff stared at them, his mouth literally hanging open.

A scowling Entreri turned on his heel and left the office.

Jarlaxle took off his hat and swept into a low bow. "As the man says," he said, straightening and replacing his hat. "There can be no payment for an unfinished job." He followed the assassin out the door.

The drow caught up with Entreri down the street and gave him a curious look. "'We do not accept payment for a job half done?'" he asked, trying hard not to smile.

Entreri glared at him and continued walking without replying.

But Jarlaxle was not going to let this one drop. "Why did you refuse our payment? Five-hundred gold coins is nothing to scoff at, and we did rescue the girl."

"If you are so concerned about the gold, we can collect our payment when we finish the job," Entreri snapped.

The elf had to bite his inner lip to stop the smile this time. "Are you turning into a hero, my friend?"

Entreri halted in his tracks and stared down the mercenary as he stopped before him. "I am no hero, and I never will be!"

"Ah, yes," Jarlaxle replied with a wry grin, "because basically there are no heroes. But since there are no heroes, there is only us. So we then do what is necessary?"

"Don't be a fool," Entreri growled, turning on the drow and walking away.

But Jarlaxle merely continued to smile. _I am many things, my friend,_ he thought, _and a fool is not among them, especially when it comes to you._ With a chuckle, he turned to follow Entreri to their inn, but just for a moment, he felt as though someone were scrying for him. The mercenary paused, frowning, but the sensation was gone.

Jarlaxle decided he needed to learn everything he could about Marrin Socor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Entreri eased back into the hot water and willed his muscles to relax. Normally he wasn't choosy about bath water: a cold stream worked as well as anything, although the assassin firmly believed that scented baths could make one soft. But a steaming-hot unscented bath did not go unappreciated. The assassin twisted to his right a bit, popping his neck and several vertebrae, then relaxed back into the water again with just the faintest of smiles. He'd slept for a decadent nine hours, but he didn't bother to chastise himself considering he'd gone over forty hours without sleep on top of a whole month of troubled sleep. He hadn't slept well since their capture by Brok Waylein; the nightmares of his childhood had returned. It wasn't a nightly occurrence, and fortunately, unlike the first night, all the dreams caused was some sleep loss. Still, Entreri didn't want to be reminded in any way about that troubling childhood experience or the resulting rage he'd lost control of for a few minutes too many.

Jarlaxle had gathered some information on Marrin Socor before they'd retired for the evening. They now knew that he was the youngest son of an obscenely rich family in the northern part of the province. Trained as a wizard by his father, the twenty-five-year-old man had yet to leave home. He was spoiled and reckless and had earned the ire of many towns early in his adult years because of his drunken misconduct. However, over the past year his impish behavior had moved past disorderly conduct to true crime: he'd begun experimenting with his magic, trying to create the ultimate spell for his "legacy," and several people had died as a result of the subsequent misfired spells. Also, he had run off with two different girls only to abandon them when they'd become pregnant. Two furious fathers had consequently joined the law in search of the irresponsible and very dangerous wizard.

When Entreri had awakened that morning, Jarlaxle had been gone already, and the assassin assumed he was out gathering further information. The elf had indicated the night before that he would return to the sheriff's office to see what else he could glean. Entreri, who wasn't really interested in being a part of that conversation, was grateful that elves didn't need as much rest as humans so he could bow out of that task. After all, Socor didn't worry him. Spellcasters could be highly deadly, especially those who couldn't entirely control their magic, but the young man seemed to Entreri to be more of an overgrown child. It wasn't anything proper caution couldn't manage.

The assassin glanced over at the stool by the tub where his dagger lay within easy reach. Beside the weapon was the silver token he'd stolen from Socor. Entreri reached out and picked it up, looking at it closely. An inch in diameter, the silver coin was thin and shiny; a loin's head decorated both sides. There were no other markings. Jarlaxle had examined it and declared it a reasonably powerful defensive magical item, then seemed to lose interest in it. Entreri snorted. That elf and magical items! Still, the mercenary couldn't explain why the token had rejected Entreri. The assassin shrugged. If Jarlaxle didn't want it, perhaps they could sell it.

A strange tingling sensation raced down Entreri's spine, and the assassin growled. Someone was scrying him, and considering he was sitting stark naked in perfectly clear bath water, he didn't appreciate it. "I am aware you are watching me!" he snapped, and the sensation immediately stopped.

Irritated but ultimately unconcerned, the assassin continued his bath. However, as he prepared to wash his hair, the feeling that he was being magically watched returned. Entreri pushed the long, wet strands of his black hair from his face and held back the scowl. "I would have thought you only interested in women," he taunted.

The feeling stopped so abruptly the assassin snickered. Still, it was obvious that the wizard was serious in his threat, so Entreri finished his bath as quickly as possible. He needed to find Jarlaxle so they could begin planning to deal with this annoyance.

* * *

The elf in question was making his way from the sheriff's office to the woods outside of the town. A wide smile decorated his face as he considered Entreri's reaction to the loyalty and love between the mayor and his daughter. Jarlaxle wasn't surprised in the least by the assassin's reaction. Given the level of betrayal that had occurred between the man and his father, it made sense to the drow that Entreri would react well to fathers who proved loyal to their children. His pet project was coming along nicely. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun! And what better recipient of his masterful planning than such a skilled and clever man! Now if only Jarlaxle could find Entreri a suitable woman . . ..

Added to this rewarding development was the fact that Jarlaxle was on his way to meet Kimmuriel, who should have his new bracers ready. As much as Jarlaxle liked Entreri and enjoyed his company, he could never forget the fact that the assassin was a truly dangerous man—a man who'd succeeded in killing a matron mother and was closely matched, if not equal, to the impressive Drizzt Do'Urden. One did not travel beside such a man without proper assurances.

Jarlaxle entered a clearing and with a muttered word tugged one of the gold hoops decorating his ear. Moments later, the handsome Kimmuriel Oblodra stepped out from a dimensional door to stand in the clearing before him.

"Greetings," Kimmuriel said, bowing low.

Jarlaxle smiled at the drow he'd once saved from the horrible abuse of the Oblodra females. Saved and then profited from. "Greetings, _khal abbil._ I assume you now have my new bracers prepared?"

Kimmuriel smiled and held out bracers identical in appearance to Jarlaxle's current ones. "Of course. As well as a new cane."

* * *

Entreri had visited the sheriff's office first, and upon finding that he'd just missed Jarlaxle, followed the direction that McKinney had seen Jarlaxle head. He thought little of it, for there was never any guessing what the clever mercenary would be up to next.

* * *

"Splendid!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, examining the half-moon pattern he'd created with his daggers. "Truly you have outdone yourself, my friend." The drow had long since set aside his feelings about Kimmuriel's betrayal. Jarlaxle's own actions had enabled the shard to launch its manipulations, and Kimmuriel had been both ready and willing to concede leadership back to Jarlaxle. Besides, betrayal was a fact of life for the drow.

Kimmuriel apparently couldn't hide his grin at Jarlaxle's praise.

"Now, what of the walking stick?" Jarlaxle asked, holding out his original cane.

* * *

"—walking stick?" Entreri heard the mercenary say, but without the beginning of the sentence, he was unsure of the context. The assassin drew back, keeping to the shadows at the edges of the clearing. At first, he was shocked to see Kimmuriel. Jarlaxle had told the new leader of Bregan D'aerthe not to follow him, after all. On second thought, however, the assassin wasn't surprised at all. Since Jarlaxle had told Kimmuriel that he would return and demand co-leadership, it only made sense that the mercenary would remain in contact with Kimmuriel and keep track of what was happening with his band. In fact, he couldn't afford not to keep track of it, to not keep his fingers on the pulse of Menzoberranzan, or he would never be able to return as a co-leader. Not to mention that all those magical items—Entreri's new shirt, the ferret-headed cane—had to come from somewhere, and the assassin knew that Jarlaxle didn't just pull them out of thin air.

As a matter of fact, as Entreri considered it, he once again had to wonder why the drow had stayed with him on the surface at all. If he really meant to return to his band one day, he was taking an awful risk to even spend any time away from them. Yet Jarlaxle seemed to be having the time of his life up here, running around and getting into trouble.

Entreri watched as Kimmuriel handed Jarlaxle a cane identical in appearance to Jarlaxle's first one and then accepted the old one. The assassin listened carefully as the two conversed in the drow language.

"You should find that it loads much quicker this time," the psionistic said. "I also increased the amount of poison it carries."

"Excellent!" With a big grin, Jarlaxle whirled the new cane experimentally.

Entreri quietly snorted to himself. Jarlaxle expressed an almost childish excitement. _Like it's a new toy,_ the assassin thought. He didn't bother to be offended or to even feel suspicious. He'd known a dozen men like Jarlaxle—men who survived by keeping everyone around them in the dark. The evasive answers, the endless mysteries, the half-truths were the methods the mercenary used to keep himself alive, and Entreri had known that almost from the beginning. Still …

Still, the drow was evincing something close to paranoia. Usually, Entreri considered people fools if they trusted him, and his friend was drow, after all, which meant he didn't trust anyone practically by default. But in this case, if the drow failed to trust him at some critical moment, one or both of them could end up dead.

However, Entreri decided that when Jarlaxle returned to the inn, he would act as though he'd seen nothing. He reasoned that it was better for the mercenary to feel protected, and besides, he could always use the information to his advantage in the future. But then Kimmuriel spoke again.

"How are your efforts with the human coming?" he asked, his cynicism and sarcasm evident. "Have you molded him into a better man yet?"

Jarlaxle merely laughed. "Come now, _khal abbil._ Do you doubt my abilities so?"

"Of course not," Kimmuriel murmured with a bow.

An entire hell seemed to light in Entreri's stomach at the words, he was so furious. The mercenary was playing some kind of game with him? He was manipulating him and laughing about it behind his back? The assassin gripped the pommel of his sword unconsciously.

Jarlaxle, formerly of Bregan D'aerthe, did not have long to live.

* * *

_A/N: I really wish this site allowed us to use double spaces between paragraphs; using lines to separate things in this chapter makes the text look weird..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Entreri waited further up the trail from the clearing where Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel were meeting. Leaning against the broad truck of an oak tree, Entreri folded his arms and watched with eerie calm for Jarlaxle's approach. His anger blazed under his skin like the sting of frostburn, but he clapped his iron will down upon it and waited. Waited.

_A better man,_ Kimmuriel had said. What kind of game was this? As Entreri thought about it, he realized that Jarlaxle had indeed manipulated him into doing several "good" deeds over the last few months, among them the apology to the barmaid and the saving of the girls from the highwaymen. Although Entreri had been aware of Jarlaxle's tugging and pulling, he growled deep in his throat. The drow was being more brazen than he'd realized. And what was Jarlaxle trying to do? Turn him into Drizzt? What did a drow care? Or was this some sort of perverse game for the mercenary's amusement? Was it that he could somehow secure a better market in a future, second business venture to the surface if he had a more respectable Entreri as his front? Entreri growled again, clenching his fists. Not for the first time in his life he envisioned himself slashing open Jarlaxle's throat.

Upon seeing the mercenary's approach, Entreri's first impulse was to just kill him outright, but he found he couldn't—he had to have an explanation first. Besides, a mere month earlier he'd learned all too well what losing his temper could cost him.

Jarlaxle neared, absently twirling his cane in one hand and seeming unconcerned to find Entreri there. However, once he was within five feet of the man, he stopped suddenly, apparently sensing the assassin's dangerous mood. "What is wrong, my friend?"

At Jarlaxle's choice of words, Entreri had to rein in his temper, but he felt so angry and threatened it was a struggle. The urge to strike out at Jarlaxle was almost unbearable. "I heard part of your discussion with Kimmuriel." Entreri spoke in a deadly calm tone. "Pray tell me, what kind of creature do you plan to 'mold' me into?" The bite of sarcasm in his voice was vicious. "And how many laughs have you shared with Kimmuriel over this plan?"

Jarlaxle grew very still, much in the way people played dead with attacking bears. "Laughs? I—we—certainly were not laughing at you," he stated outright.

Entreri's eyes narrowed. "Not laughing? Why not? You have been manipulating me! Have you not been amused by your game?"

"No, my friend," Jarlaxle said, chuckling. When Entreri's scowl increased, he held up a hand in an attempt to calm the man and exert some diplomacy. "This is no game. And have we not both manipulated each other? Is that not why you carry your beautiful sword?" He dropped his hand. "Is my influence so terrible? After all, I'm trying to help you."

The assassin clenched both of his fists in an attempt to control his rage over this proclamation. "Help me? How? Through this 'molding'? What are you trying to make of me? This 'better man'? A hero?" Entreri spat the word. "For what purpose!"

"I am not endeavoring to make you into a hero. As I said, I'm simply trying to help you find your way, your purpose in life." He held his arms wide, smiling as though the answer should make everything clear.

"Help me?" Entreri repeated incredulously and stepped away from the tree. "By making me such a 'better man'? By determining what way I should go? How does a mercenary leader—a drow who kills and brazenly uses and manipulates all around him for his own profit—make me a better man or provide purpose for my life? Are we so different, you and I, that you can judge or guide me? Have we not done what is necessary to survive in our respective worlds? Where am I so much more wicked than a drow who stops at nothing to acquire wealth and power? And yet here you stand saying that Drizzt was correct about my life being empty and meaningless."

"Am I wrong?" Jarlaxle replied. "Is that not something that you yourself came to realize?"

"Does that not also mean your life is empty—a life spent killing and manipulating others for material gain? Except for our difference in goals, the only distinction between us that I can see is that you enjoy your miserable life."

Jarlaxle grinned. "And that is what I am trying to show you!" When Entreri snorted, the drow grew more serious. "Would you now try to judge me in return, then? I have lived in a world far darker and more dangerous than your own. I have simply done what is necessary in order to survive."

"As have I. And yet here you are, manipulating me." Entreri stopped for a moment, consciously controlling his anger again. "I am no fool. I know all too well how you see people as tools. I've followed your agenda by my own choice; I've been content to allow myself to be guided by your machinations because I currently have nothing better to do. But recreating me into an image of your own choosing? Tell me, my 'friend,' what profit do you find in that? A fun game? Puppetry? Something even more sinister?"

Jarlaxle chuckled once again, but his grin seemed a touch strained. "Why, I am trying to help you better understand yourself," he explained, "that you may find your path and come into some peace! There is, as you say, one difference between us—I enjoy my life and you don't. Am I not the one person most likely to teach you to smile?" The drow paused, a frown briefly crossing his face. "Whether you really become a better man—or even a hero—is hardly my concern. But whatever you do, be true to yourself—and I mean what is really in your heart and not this bitter mask."

Entreri started to say something caustic about "teaching," but the flash of concern which flickered across the elf's face as he spoke stopped him. Was it possible? Was this drow so much of a kindred spirit that he could see what Entreri was searching for and point it out? Was this meddlesome creature enough of a friend to be concerned with his happiness? Had it instead been Dwahvel, the answer would've been obvious.

Lies Entreri could understand. Everyone was a liar. And in all fairness, everyone was a manipulator, too, including the assassin himself. Likely, if the drow really were trying to help him, it was simply meant in part to further secure the drow's own safety or to further their adventures and profits. Still, knowing there was an ulterior motive made Entreri uncomfortable, and he hated to be controlled.

"Cautiously, I have trusted you as an associate," the assassin stated, choosing the blunt approach. "I did so believing I was your partner in mutual profit. Not your puppet. And now I find you have thoroughly manipulated me with your secret games—one of the things I have most hated about drow. Yet still you dare to argue that it has been for my benefit?"

"It has." Jarlaxle smiled once more, but there was a touch of resignation in his voice. "And you are not my puppet. I told you before I have no use for puppets. People who work together, who are truly profiting from the association, are the ones who are working harder to reach higher goals. _That_ we _are_ doing. We are both benefiting from our alliance, Artemis Entreri. And besides, you are my friend."

"Friends might influence, give advice, and listen, but they don't try to control each other," Entreri stated with conviction. Then what he said stopped him cold. Given how little he had known of real friendship, how did he know that? From his time spent with Dwahvel?

Then the second realization: given drow society, could Jarlaxle really know what a friend was? Perhaps this over-enthusiastic meddling was the best he could offer. Could Entreri damn him for that? No, and yet the survivor instinct in him screamed warnings: this drow will continue to manipulate you!

At Entreri's words, Jarlaxle had gone very still and silent. Entreri watched, even as his mind whirled with thoughts, as some emotion leaked onto the elf's face. Was it sadness? Disappointment? Suddenly, Entreri felt very tired and wished the conversation to be finished, but he couldn't just leave it like this.

Deep within, in the place where Artemis kept his most dangerous, painful, and conflicting emotions and realizations, he had known for some time that Jarlaxle was truly his friend. This understanding and the need that accompanied it now spoke. "If you really are my friend, find a different way. I'm not here for your amusement." He spun on his heel and stalked away, aware of the myriad implications behind that statement and just not caring.

He left a very surprised Jarlaxle in his wake.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

First, Jarlaxle sat in the tavern, hoping to drink some wine while he thought this through, but without the human at his side, he was soon run out. Even the drow's considerable charm could not single-handedly secure his position on the surface world, a fact which was reinforced by the argument he and Entreri had just had. The reminder did not amuse Jarlaxle in the slightest, causing him to leave the establishment with an atypical frown upon his face. Unfortunately, this very preoccupation caused the mercenary to miss the disguised figure observing him from the shadows of the tavern.

Jarlaxle wandered past the outskirts of the town to the edge of the forest, found a nice grassy knoll spotted with a few trees, and took a seat. The sun had almost completely bowed below the horizon for the evening, leaving the heavens painted like a rainbow. Deep red shaded the skyline, with the sky growing orange, then yellow, as it stretched overhead. Even a faint tint of green colored a swath of the sky right before the blue, which arched into navy and the growing blackness behind Jarlaxle. The painfully exquisite beauty of the scene was not lost on the somber dark elf.

Also not lost on Jarlaxle was the glowing crimson tint the sunset gave to the shimmering silver lake in the valley below the town. The feathers of gliding swans seemed scarlet in the dying light, and the sweet, musky scents of a dozen flowers almost made the elf relax. He could grow bored in a place like this, but he could also appreciate the scene as well. The surface world held so many sights and wonders that the Underdark did not. And Jarlaxle was not yet ready to return home. Not by far.

Still, Jarlaxle sometimes wondered if he really wanted to continue traveling with Entreri, and so given this most recent incident, he had the urge to just wipe his hands clean of the assassin. The man resisted Jarlaxle's every explanation, refused help even when utterly lost—which was both exasperating for the drow and self-defeating for the human. However, having lived in a world even darker than the underbelly of Calimport—as well as experiencing firsthand a parent's betrayal—Jarlaxle could understand Entreri's stubbornness, anger, and bitterness. At the same time, having achieved what Jarlaxle had achieved, having chosen his own path and built his own world, the mercenary could also see exactly where Entreri had gone wrong. Could see what the man could have been, could even become still, but only with help.

This truth, of course, brought back the human's final, shocking words from their argument: "If you really are my friend, find a different way."

To Jarlaxle's surprise, the words had caught him in the chest. After having spent a lifetime viewing people as controllable, replaceable tools, he'd begun his manipulation of Entreri without a second thought. Ushering the assassin down a different path had seemed an easy enough task. The man was obviously terribly lost, and Jarlaxle had always believed he'd understood the man's goals and desires better than he.

But was there another way? And should Jarlaxle be considering it? The sting of Entreri's words was not something the drow would have predicted, and it made him think—not only about his methods but about his motivations. But there was another point to consider: would he still be safe if he eased his control of Entreri? Jarlaxle frowned to himself, disturbed about where his thoughts were leading him.

Consumed in his contemplations, Jarlaxle failed to hear the crunching of grass under boot heels. The faint snap of a twig was all the warning the elf received. Jarlaxle jumped to his feet and only had time to throw his arms up against the sudden rolling wall of fire which erupted from just behind the tree line. The powerful enchantment of his ring protected him, and the flames rushed over him without causing damage. The same could not be said for a few of the trees and the grass, which blackened and smoked. Coughing, Jarlaxle waved his hand in front of his face, trying to clear the smoke, but all he could see was a faint outline of a figure in the shadows of the forest. The mercenary was not deterred; running toward his attacker, he whipped out one of his many wands and pointed it at the figure. A ray of freezing air shot forth, catching the man in the arm as he tried to jump clear.

The person cursed, and Jarlaxle followed the sounds of his receding footsteps. Yet when the elf cleared the smoke and entered the shadows, he saw no one. Even the sounds of the footsteps had ceased.

_It has to be Socor here to attain his revenge,_ Jarlaxle thought. _And he'll attack Entreri next._ Without a moment's hesitation, Jarlaxle ran back towards town, hoping to reach Entreri before the wizard.

Jarlaxle was halfway back to town before he realized that he'd not thought twice about rushing to Entreri's aid. The revelation slowed him to a near stop, for it illustrated to him in no uncertain terms that he no longer considered Entreri one of his many tools. Entreri was controllable, but he wasn't expendable. Although, of course, Jarlaxle would kill him if he had to.

The elf sped up his pace again, trying to lose his thoughts in the rapid beating of his heart. But there was no denying the truth. He remembered his reaction when he'd thought that Entreri had betrayed him over the crystal shard. Even "knowing" why Entreri was there, he'd resisted the shard's demands that he kill the assassin, and when he'd realized that he had to kill him, he'd demanded to know why. His own words echoed in his mind: "Please tell me why I must do this!"

_This is not good,_ Jarlaxle thought. _I am beginning to care too much. That can only bring betrayal and pain._ He smiled without humor at the next thought. _Or perhaps another trip to the abyss._

But Entreri's words returned to him yet again: "If you really are my friend, find a different way."

It was not at all the response Jarlaxle had expected. He had expected a violent reaction—a fight which would have left one of them dead. That Entreri had reached past his normal violence touched something in the drow he didn't want to admit to having. Something that spoke more deeply than he'd formerly predicated about friendship.

And Jarlaxle's feelings about that scared him indeed; real friends were such a rarity in drow society that the phrase "trusted friend" was a joke. What would it mean, then, for Jarlaxle to acquire a genuine friend? The concept was so stunning as to be nearly frightening. Of course, he did have his new bracers now, so he had several advantages should things go wrong ….

Jarlaxle stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't his physical body that needed protecting, he realized.

It was his heart.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Entreri was tired of thinking. For a solid half-hour, he sat in a seedy tavern several blocks from his inn and sipped carefully at his drink, watching the drunken patrons make fools of themselves. They tripped; they fell. They laughed and accidentally snorted ale up their noses, which they then spewed all over their tables. They tried to dance, mimicking something like bellydancing, and ended up showing off their hairy beer bellies to the rest of the room. And through it all, the assassin refused to consider his argument with Jarlaxle for even a second.

What was there to think about? Entreri had never been the type to reflect, preferring action to inner debate. Yet from time to time he found himself caught on a thought, much like he had been prior to his and Jarlaxle's 'adventure' with the highwaymen, and he allowed himself to ponder recent effects. Perhaps, then, it was a true sign of the assassin's irritation that once he'd slowly consumed his ale, he found himself face-to-face with the question of whether he and Jarlaxle would soon be parting ways.

Why a "better" man? Of all the questions, jabs, and explanations that had passed between them, Entreri found his attention most caught by that concern. After all, the assassin could ultimately deal with acts of manipulation; what he didn't understand was the goal of the attempted manipulation.

Jarlaxle had thrown into the assassin's face the truth of his empty existence, and though he seldom stopped to acknowledge it, Entreri was all too aware of that truth. Yet his words to Dwahvel, so many months ago, still rang true to him: "I know not yet where I hope to go, what challenges are left before me, but I do understand now that the important thing is to enjoy the process of getting there."

But remembering those words brought Entreri up short. He had, for the most part, been in an utterly foul mood for months now. He'd gained an insight, yet he was failing to use it.

Entreri frowned, trying to push away his thoughts. He focused on a barmaid as she slapped a drunken man's hand. When the man persisted in reaching for her breast, she dumped her pitcher of ale right on his head. The entire uproarious crowd laughed at the man, and although Entreri felt the man deserved his humiliation, he didn't join in the laughter.

Then again, Entreri rarely did laugh, and perhaps it was the man he had always been that brought on a second unsettling thought: if his life had been empty before, a meaningful life would have to be one quite different. That realization alone made Entreri scowl. He believed he'd been comfortable with himself, after all, and had not been seeking change, but learning what he'd learned had forced him to consider this truth. The concept of becoming someone else made him distinctly uncomfortable and unhappy.

_Wait,_ he thought, backtracking. The thought of becoming someone different, someone—admittedly—with a more meaningful life, put him in a foul mood.

He had been in a foul mood for months.

He had been undergoing the change for months.

More specifically, Jarlaxle had been pushing him down that path for months. Jarlaxle had been—

Had been what? Ushering him down the path he already knew he had to take but just didn't want to accept?

The thought seemed to drop an anvil into the pit of Entreri's stomach. A hundred thoughts hit him at once: _Even though I've faced this truth, I don't wish to lose the essence of who I am. A new path doesn't mean I have to sacrifice everything I am! But is Jarlaxle trying to make me someone else? Surely he's not truly trying to make me a hero._

One thought took precedence: he did not want to be a hero. Entreri had no use for heroes. Heroes were fools who got themselves killed or were hypocrites who chopped the hands off of petty thieves while the people who really were suffering evil were being—

Entreri stopped his thoughts abruptly. Instead, he focused on Jarlaxle's earlier words: "Whether you really become a better man—or even a hero—is hardly my concern. But whatever you do, be true to yourself—and I mean what is really in your heart and not this bitter mask."

Entreri frowned. He thought back to the incident with the serving girl. Jarlaxle had said, "Do not pretend that you don't care. Artemis Entreri is a better man than to whip a serving girl." Oddly enough, the drow had spoken as though all Entreri were really doing was violating his own inner code of conduct. His request, it would seem, was merely that Entreri be himself instead of feigning apathy.

Was it possible, then, that the older drow, in the name of friendship or mutual benefit, was simply challenging Entreri to uncover a part of himself that was already there? It was a strange thought, given the life he'd lived and the choices he'd made.

And what was Jarlaxle gaining from this? Did that matter as long as Entreri was not being harmed? After all, nothing in life was ever free, so Entreri could hardly be offended if the mercenary profited from it. Within reason, that is.

The questions had to go unanswered, for Entreri's warrior's intuition screamed in his mind. From the corner of his vision, he caught the slightest movement. He obeyed the instincts that a lifetime's worth of experience had distilled in him and ducked under his table, yanking it over and using it as a shield.

Just in time for a fireball to explode through the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The fireball bloomed in the tavern like a demonic flower, the tongues of flame brushing the walls like destructive orange petals. Entreri knelt behind the toppled table, which took the brunt of the initial discharge, then took the risk and jumped through the window behind him, knowing that the tavern would soon explode. Sure enough, the assassin had only taken two running steps before the entire building combusted. The force of the blast knocked Entreri off of his feet and hurled him across the street. He rolled as he hit the ground, both to absorb the impact and to extinguish the flames eating at his clothes. Despite his efforts, he was certain to be bruised, especially since he was also pummeled by flying debris.

Marrin Socor. Entreri was sure the caster was their new wizard friend. Regaining his feet, he melted into the shadows of the nearest alley and watched as moments later Socor stepped from his hiding place to scan the street. _Psychotic fool,_ Entreri thought, growling to himself. _Did he just destroy an entire tavern to get me? Has he never heard of stealth?_

Socor glanced about, his gaze passing right over where the assassin stood, and he frowned, obviously confused as to where his opponent had gone. Entreri grinned wickedly. Perhaps killing that shade had been the best luck he'd had in over a decade.

_Divide and conquer,_ his mind whispered to him, and the assassin realized the wisdom of the insight. Socor would choose to strike only when he and Jarlaxle were apart. Perhaps, in fact, the wizard had magically viewed their argument and was attacking now that they were not only apart but at odds.

Entreri frowned. He wasn't sure just how powerful the wizard was, but Jarlaxle knew the most about him and would prove a great asset in the battle. The assassin had to set aside all his questions and doubts and find Jarlaxle so they could deal with Socor.

Provided, of course, that the drow had not abandoned him.

* * *

Jarlaxle entered the town in a dead run, and unsure where to go, headed for the most logical place: their inn. To his surprise, Entreri was waiting for him. The assassin stepped out of the shadows of the alley by the building, and Jarlaxle noted with some discomfort that he hadn't even seen the man who was now a demi-shade. 

Entreri strode toward him without a word, and Jarlaxle froze in his tracks, wondering what would happen. The assassin seemed tense, alert, and urgent, but he did not seem threatening. He grabbed Jarlaxle's wrist and pulled him into the shadows; the mercenary immediately stiffened and prepared for the worst.

"We have an uninvited guest," the human whispered. He let go of Jarlaxle's wrist only to grasp his hand and place Socor's magical token into it. "Given that the token rejected me, I think it best if you carry it."

Jarlaxle's mouth nearly dropped open. "You trust me still?" he couldn't help asking as he stored the coin in a belt pouch.

Entreri smirked. "You do not betray without the promise of profit or gain. There is nothing for you to gain here other than your own safety. Therefore, I trust you."

_The logic is perfect, and utterly correct,_ Jarlaxle noted, although somehow the words once again had a faint sting to them. How had the man managed to slip—even slightly—beneath his mental armor? Were they both not simply being practical?

The human was walking away, apparently to confront their latest enemy, and Jarlaxle dismissed his thoughts so he could prepare for the coming battle.

* * *

Entreri headed in the direction he knew Socor to have taken. He wasn't in the mood to play games; he wasn't even in the mood to taunt. He just wanted to kill the troublesome wizard and be done with it. Still, he and Jarlaxle utilized a great deal of stealth in their attempt to track the man, although they suspected it wouldn't matter. A simple scrying spell would inform their adversary of their approach. 

Sure enough, Socor was awaiting them in the woods beyond the far side of the town. "Shall we settle this?" the mage called.

Entreri and Jarlaxle traded looks and stepped into the clearing with Socor. "Yes, let us kill you and be on with our business," the assassin retorted.

Socor smiled. "On the contrary! I'm going to retrieve my token and then usher you both on down into the nine hells."

"So the token was of great importance to you," Entreri commented with a telling smirk. Perhaps he would indulge in one small taunt after all.

Socor hissed in rage and made a beckoning motion with his hand. A bone devil stepped out from among the trees and growled at the assassin. For a brief moment the man reconsidered his habit of taunting his victims.

Jarlaxle briefly signaled that he would take the wizard, but Entreri had little time to acknowledge it. The hideous creature, with its dried skin stretched taunt over its protruding skeleton, stalked toward the assassin and snapped its scorpion-like tail his way. Entreri dodged the strike and drew his weapons, all the while cursing the wizard for his foresight.

Magic missiles erupted to Entreri's side as the wizard focused his attention upon Jarlaxle; the assassin didn't even bother to look, knowing the mercenary had plenty of tricks with which to cover himself. A flash of lightning arched toward Socor a moment later, no doubt from one of Jarlaxle's many wands, but it hit nothing. Displacement spell, Entreri noted, and then a profound magical silence dropped upon the clearing.

The bone devil charged the assassin, striking out with its poisonous tail again. The assassin jumped clear at the last moment, but his nose was assaulted by the foul air of decay that surrounded the creature. _Wretched beast,_ he thought with disgust as he slashed out with Charon's Claw. His initial attack had little effect. The creature made a swipe at him with its claws as he passed, but Entreri ducked it. The bone devil immediately lashed out with its tail, so the assassin had to spring straight up from his crouched position into a high vault, tucking his legs in order to clear the tail. Even before his feet touched the ground again he struck out with the sword once more.

To his right, Jarlaxle was keeping Socor busy, although neither the wizard nor the mercenary had managed to harm the other. Having adjusted for Socor's displacement spell, Jarlaxle showered the wizard with a hail of daggers, and the speed of his throws seemed to have almost doubled. Unfortunately, Socor was well prepared with a stoneskin spell.

Entreri's third strike at the bone devil scored a minor hit, drawing a fine slash along the creature's arm. It howled in pain—the sound rendered mute by Jarlaxle's magical silence—and lashed out with the other arm and its tail simultaneously. The assassin dodged the tail but couldn't entirely clear the arm, and as a result he was hit squarely in the shoulder and knocked to the side. _That will bruise,_ he noted, blocking a claw-slash with his dagger.

But a moment later he had much more to think about, for the magical silence lifted. Socor yelled in victory and shouted a spell: "Socor-rame!"

Entreri frowned, for he'd never heard such a spell before and knew it had to be Socor's dangerous "legacy" spell. He cringed, but there was nothing he could do because the bone devil repeatedly lashed at him. Still, from the edge of his vision, Entreri could see Socor throw his right hand outward in the motions of a spell, and a red tornado of tiny shimmering spheres seemed to erupt from his palm. Jarlaxle tried to jump clear, but the tornado tracked him much like a magic missile would. The assassin yelled out, and several of Jarlaxle's trinkets, as well as the band on his hat, glowed red for an instant. Much to Entreri's surprise, and apparently also Jarlaxle's, his magical defenses absorbed the attack.

Socor cursed and repeated the spell. "Socor-rame!" This time, at the last possible moment, he turned and aimed at Entreri's back, and the assassin, busy fighting off an enraged bone devil, had no way to defend himself.

Entreri managed one thought in that eternal second, and that thought had nothing to do with death, which he'd never truly feared. Instead his mind turned to the brilliant and clever mercenary he had so respected professionally, the elf he had dared to begin to think of as a friend: _I wonder if Jarlaxle will even attempt to save me._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

When Socor turned the spell upon Entreri, Jarlaxle acted instantly and without thought. Much like when he'd attacked the red dragon to cover Entreri's and Danica's escape months earlier, Jarlaxle reacted as an ally should. Although he didn't do so with enough force to knock him down, the elf charged the assassin and tackled him, meaning to protect him from the evocation spell the same way he'd shielded the girl Lila the day before. The mercenary threw his arms about the assassin's waist from behind so that when the red tornado of energy hit Entreri's back it would strike the drow as well. Jarlaxle's intuition paid off; his trinkets absorbed most of the spell, giving the pair nothing more than a mild shock. The mercenary smelled an odd smoky scent, much like burning leather, but he didn't see any flames and ignored it. He immediately released Entreri and turned on Socor.

Entreri, in the meantime, was suffering from a different kind of shock. _What is the use of having a friend,_ Entreri had often wondered, _when they will only betray and hurt you?_ Yet this elf had not betrayed him.

But the assassin couldn't spare time for the epiphany; the bone devil aimed its poisonous tail directly at Entreri's chest. The man jumped clear of the strike and slashed outward with his powerful sword, this time connecting cleanly with the creature's side. Charon's Claw sliced through the ribs, and the bone devil howled. Entreri instantly back-slashed, this time cutting deeply into the beast, all the way to the spine. The sword went to work, eating the dying creature from the inside-out. The bone devil collapsed a moment later.

Jarlaxle and Socor, in the meantime, had faced off. "You no doubt believe you can defeat me," the wizard said. "But you shall not. My defenses are impenetrable, and every spell you've absorbed has only furthered my agenda. Richon, obey me! Release yo—"

Jarlaxle dropped his magical silence again, but it was too late. The belt pouch where he carried the token burst into flames. The drow yanked off his belt, but before he could toss it free, it exploded, the token apparently having interacted badly with something else in the pouch. The explosion tore into his thigh, and he cried out, the sound swallowed by the silence, and dropped to the ground.

With the silence, Entreri didn't at first realize anything was wrong. He disengaged his sword, turning just in time to see the explosion. He quickly concluded that the token must have helped absorb the energy of the earlier spells, which Socor had then used against Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle watched as Socor held up his hand and went through the motions of his new spell, obviously preparing to use it without the verbal component, and the elf knew that if the spell worked, his charms would not be able to absorb another blast of that kind. The drow sat sprawled on the ground, slowly bleeding to death. Even as he desperately searched his mind for a counterstrike, for anything that would save him, Jarlaxle realized the direness of his situation given his earlier argument with the assassin. If Entreri wished, all he had to do to be rid of the mercenary was to allow the wizard to kill him, then defeat Socor himself. Given Jarlaxle's severe injures and near-uselessness, no practical reason remained for the assassin to save him.

_He is beyond my control now,_ Jarlaxle realized. _The time has come for the betrayal, for he has nothing to gain by saving me and perhaps believes he has everything to lose._

Entreri was no hero, but he did understand that if he did not save Jarlaxle, no one else would. And he was not about to allow the elf to die. He sheathed Charon's Claw and charged at Socor, forcing him to aim the spell at him instead. Entreri prepared to catch the energy in his gauntlet, but as the wizard cast the spell, something went horribly wrong. The red tornado split down the middle and spiraled out to the sides of Socor's hand. A ball of red energy bloomed outward from his palm then, and Entreri threw himself to the ground, expecting the worst.

The spell backfired, producing a blast that mushroomed upwards and blew the tops out of the trees above the men's heads. The magical silence caved as a thunderous boom seemed to rattle the very stars, and flaming debris rained down into the clearing. Socor screamed, his hand on fire, and disappeared with a puff of grey smoke. Entreri cursed, suspecting that the wizard had teleported again. This did not bode well. Marrin Socor would likely return one day.

Jarlaxle watched Entreri pull himself to his feet and dust himself off. _He freely chose to save me,_ the drow thought, shocked. _With nothing at all to gain! Knowing that I have been manipulating him, not trusting me . . .._

In that moment, a stunning realization came to Jarlaxle: for all their exterior show of stoicism or confidence, he and Entreri both manipulated others because they were ultimately ruled by fear. The only difference between them was while Entreri avoided people in order to keep himself safe, Jarlaxle created co-dependency. Yet Jarlaxle had assumed that his way was superior to Entreri's way, and while he still believed he was right, he realized suddenly the arrogance of the assumption.

Then was it possible that he, too, was limiting himself?

For a moment, just a moment, Jarlaxle felt the pain in his body, heard the screams in his mind—a flash of a memory of the abyss, of the Demon Web Pits. No, he could not place real trust in anyone!

Then he looked up at the human assassin walking toward him. A man who had been raped by his father and uncle. A man who had allowed himself to be destroyed by distrust, anger, and bitterness. A man who Jarlaxle had shamelessly manipulated. A man he had angered.

And the man who had saved his life anyway.

Entreri stopped before Jarlaxle and stared down at him, his expression unreadable.

_Can he understand my manipulations?_ Jarlaxle wondered. _Can he understand the . . . fear . . . I have of investing any real part of myself into anything?_

Perhaps Entreri could understand.

Children sacrificed to evil goddesses and children raped by parents both suffered similar fates: the adults blatantly disregarded the value of the child's life for the sake of amusement or benefits. People who had not lived with such abuse would never understand the panic that relying on others brought, nor would they understand the need for control that such powerlessnesss caused.

Pride. Power. Control.

Of course, everyone ultimately makes their own decisions or chooses to remain in their own hells, and that fact caused Jarlaxle to reaffrim that he did have a gift he could give Entreri: the ability to enjoy and make the most of his life.  
"Are you going to stare up at me with wide eyes all night, or do you plan on speaking?" Entreri asked.

Any words Jarlaxle could have spoken flew away with that comment.

"Can you get up?" Entreri asked with apparent impatience. "We need to get back to the inn before anyone comes to investigate. That explosion is likely to draw every curious person in a fifty mile radius."

But the words barely registered with Jarlaxle. "Why did you save me?" he asked, honestly confused and more than a little off-balance.

"Why did you save me?" Entreri returned, kneeling by the elf and carefully examining his leg.

"We are partners and allies," Jarlaxle replied. "And you?"

"Perhaps I decided to wear the mask of a hero," Entreri answered, for once the cryptic one.

Jarlaxle stared up at the man, still confused and quite frustrated. The mask of a hero? There was nothing fake about Entreri's efforts, and there was no possible ulterior motive given that the drow knew his manipulations hadn't been sufficient enough to force such loyalty.

Entreri reached into one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out a roll of bandages. He carefully wrapped Jarlaxle's wounded leg. "Silly elf," he snapped, "you have injured yourself quite badly."

Jarlaxle's already wide eyes grew unnaturally large. Had Entreri just called him . . . silly? Of all the adjectives people had used to describe him in his life, Jarlaxle could not recall that anyone had ever called him silly. He almost laughed.

The assassin glanced at the wide-eyed drow and had to work hard not to snicker. Entreri had never seen the mercenary so baffled! But at least his odd words had jolted the elf out of his apparent daze. "You are never going to make it back to the inn like this," he sighed as he stored his roll of bandages. Then, in an odd reversal of an event a month earlier, Entreri reached out and picked up the drow. It struck him, then, just how slender and delicate the elf really was—that most elves were, he supposed. The mercenary exuded power and confidence, and he was surely dangerous, both with his mind and his daggers. But injured, he seemed small and vulnerable, although Entreri knew better than to believe the latter.

"Put me down," Jarlaxle said. "I have methods. I do not need to be carried."

Entreri couldn't pass up the chance. "Would it mean anything even if you did?" he asked, echoing Jarlaxle's own words a month earlier.

Jarlaxle sighed, and Entreri smirked over his victory. He carried the protesting elf, quite effortlessly, all the way back to the inn.

Entreri managed to get them up the stairs and into their room without being seen, which relieved him greatly. He didn't want anyone asking any questions, and he surely didn't want anyone making any erroneous assumptions about one male carrying another up to a rented room.

"Don't ever do that again!" Jarlaxle snapped when Entreri set him on his bed. "It was very undignified, and if any ladies had been present, they would have gotten the wrong idea." The drow managed a self-depreciating smile.

The assassin smirked. "Consider it revenge for trying to make a fool of me with your game."

"I promise you, my friend, I was not trying to harm you."

"A promise from a self-serving consummate liar? I feel better already."

Jarlaxle sighed. "Artemis," he began.

"If I had decided you really had any malevolent designs, I would have killed you already," Entreri pointed out. "But you only do things for mutual benefit. So what profit is there in your plan to . . . ah . . . 'make me true to myself?'"

Jarlaxle thought on it for a moment, then grinned, seeming more like his normal self. "You'll be less sour and moody," he quipped. "And generally more pleasant to be around. And if you learn to have a bit of fun, then I am quite sure I will enjoy my time on the surface more."

_Ever elusive,_ Entreri sighed to himself, but he found that he believed the spirit behind the words, if not the words themselves. Stranger still, the reminder that Jarlaxle planned to return to Menzoberranzan one day caused Entreri a pang of regret. Yet the assassin had a point to make before he let the issue drop. "If you mean to help me—and I assure you that I neither need nor desire your help—then don't make a game of it." Entreri's tone of voice told Jarlaxle exactly what would happen if he felt threatened again.

Jarlaxle took the threat seriously, although he was pleased that his friend had managed further growth. "You do not wish my help, you say," he felt compelled to say, "and yet your words suggest you won't reject it either."

Entreri smirked, not bothered by the contradiction. "You are far too stubborn and meddlesome for me to stop outright, which means I'll just have to keep an eye on you. After all, if I meant to keep your pointy elf nose completely out of my business, I'd have to leave." He snickered at the look on Jarlaxle's face.

"Then you mean to stay with me," the drow reiterated, recovering.

"Don't bother to threaten me again; I already know that if I cross you, I'll die," Entreri said, echoing their conversation after the destruction of the crystal shard. "Or, rather, you'll die trying to kill me." The man's smile was wry.

"The former, I assure you." Jarlaxle smiled, too, because while on one level they were quite serious, on another it was a game they played so they wouldn't have to admit aloud the truth:

They were friends.

* * *

_A/N: My deepest thanks to all my reviewers! I appreciate all your feedback. Obviously, I have decided to make this a trilogy, so I hope to start posting a third story, "The Face of a God," in early August. _

I would like once again to thank my fiancé for his helpful suggestions and for using his D&D knowledge to help me with the fight scenes. I'd also like to thank darkhelmet for offering very helpful suggestions and comments. hugs her beta readers I'd also like to thank Dave for a few tips he dropped my way.

"The Mask of a Hero" was finished on May 31, 2004.


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